Wings
by Darkford
Summary: Darren Gerres is a guy between boy and man with a big secret; he was born with wings, wings that would extend from his back at night. His nightly flights were needed, but one day he is shot, and the wound leads to the chance meeting of a lifetime. Rated T for what will probably be a few more kisses than necessary. On permanent hiatus until I actually bother to /plan/ things.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Here's an idea I've played with for a while. A bit of a casual story. Please Read and Review - it means a lot!

* * *

Darren ran, late once again, letting the wind carry him forward towards his work - the simple flower shop at the corner of Green and Hilbert Boulevard was memorable to him, if only because a guy like him wasn't the kind of person you expected to find in a flower shop.

Swinging over the gate that blocked the outside world from the genuine forest growing inside the shop, he raised a hand to wave to a few of the girls winding down for the day and hopped behind the counter.

"Hello," he breathed chirpily to his boss, a petite woman with a powerful disposition.

"About time, Darren," she sighed, but her eyes danced with familiarity and kindness. She knew that, even if he _was_ late every day of the week, he was still one of the hardest-working folk there.

"How's the family?" She asked, a small but well toned hand reaching out to gently lay a finger on the plant that was always sitting near the cashier.

He shrugged and got to his station at the other checkout. "As good as always, if completely ignorant to their dropout son is anything to go by."

She clucked her disappointment with a clicking of the tongue and greeted an early-morning customer, who was soon at the mercy of the overeager shop attendants. "Should have known. You're always welcome here when things get tough, you remember that."

"I will," he agreed. "But I'll be okay, Hannah. Who knows? Maybe someday I'll start my own little flower shop, one just like this one."

"I'll look forward to it," She said honestly, a patient smile on her face. He smiled back with a jovial hum and went to work.

His bliss ended a few hours later. In walked his nightmare; he resisted a wince and instead gave his boss a knowing look and walked off to restock some empty shelves as the shop was assaulted by the well known hair-product scent of Ginger Horvath.

"Oh please, not this early in the morning," He grumbled, glancing at her with a sigh of exhaustion. "Not _her._ "

With a set of steps that were very clearly picked out to make the most noise, her high heels clicking against the wooden floor, she glanced around disdainfully, barely paying any attention at all to the flowers strewn around the shop. With a haughty smirk she called, "Well? Is anyone going to get over here and help me pick some flowers?"

Hesitantly, one of the newer recruits walked up to her, and a few seniors sighed in resignation before returning to work. Ginger proceeded to positively terrorize the poor girl, audible from the back of the building.

"Why do we deal with her again?" he grumbled, sticking a bag of fertilizer on a lower shelf. "Oh right, high-paying customer, right." He sighed and went into the storage room to retrieve more bags of fertilizer.

He took a deep breath and collapsed onto the employee table at the end of the day, prompting several of the employees to giggle lightly.

"I know it was a hard day," Hannah commented from where she was counting the cash, "but at least you'll be getting a bonus today." There was a brief cheer from the collection of employees before they started passing by to get the week's haul.

Darren finally pulled himself together and dragged himself over, thanking her half-heartedly before throwing the pay into his wallet and hopping the fence, dashing off to his favourite place.

It wasn't that Darren didn't like the flower shop; in fact, he loved it. But he also wanted to humour his creative side. He pulled out his sketchbook from his bag and flipped a pencil into his hand. Twirling it idly, he looked around for some inspiration.

He really didn't have a preferred style. His book was filled with everything from photographs to short stories, and he really didn't have any idea what to do with them, but they made him feel better.

Today he decided he'd do some fashion design. He looked up from his paper and glanced about at a few people walking by for inspiration, until he focused on a petite girl across from him.

It was obvious she knew what the word 'style' meant in the modern world. With a quiet smile, he set to work on sketching her, giving particular focus to the details of her clothing. His idle thoughts allowed him to consider her a very pretty girl, although he discarded any hope of ever getting the courage to really know anyone as pretty who wasn't as cruel as Ginger could be occasionally.

When he looked up again, he sighed. The girl had left at some point, he'd probably made her nervous, and he decided to just go off of what he had already. It was unfortunate that he'd focused on her clothing instead of her herself; he had liked the way she looked. He knew it wasn't the best way to judge people, but he had mentally painted her as a nice person.

Just then, a voice above him commented, "You're good, but what's so facinating about my clothes?"

He started and leaped to his feet, turning around on the girl who smiled up at him.

"I... thought that it seemed really stylish." He admitted quietly. "I'm sorry if I was rude or made you nervous, I just liked the way it looked..." He was backing away slowly, but she was keeping pace.

"That's really nice of you to say," she smiled. Her eyes glowed, and in that moment he decided that her clothing was really important to her.

"I've never actually seen it before in stores or anything," he commented, hoping to distract her from the awkward situation. "Where did you get them?"

She glowed like the sun. "The jeans I ordered from France. The shirt and blouse I made myself."

He was floored. "You made them?"

"Yes!" She grinned. "I'm a design student. I want to start making my own line of clothing someday. I'm so glad someone noticed them!" She giggled. "Especially someone like you. You strike me as the type to pay more attention to other things."

It was true, Darren considered with a bit of shock. He was muscular, from working hard every day and from his nightly runs, and he was tall, too. His hair was messy and his clothes thrown together so haphazardly that he probably didn't look anything like someone who cared about clothing.

"I surprise a lot of people," he offered.

"Well then, Mr Surprise," she smirked, "What's your name? I'm Daisy."

"Darren," he replied nervously. "I'd... well, I'd better get going now." He waved and walked off, hearing quiet calls of 'See you later' and other goodbyes until he started running.

He had to remind himself that he couldn't let anyone get closer than that.

His heart raced as he sat, breathing hard, in his apartment. He'd been so close to just blurting out whatever came to mind, and that _scared_ him. He wasn't only scared he might ruin her day and say something rude, like comment on how pretty she was or how much he wanted to hug her; he was scared his secret would get out, and that would be it.

Anxiety was a thing he developed, and as much as it hurt, it helped him; it was anxiety that helped him escape the questions people asked, anxiety that protected him from doing stupid things or saying something impulsively. He couldn't let people know he was the way he was; he wasn't really good at knowing why, but he figured that no matter who he revealed himself to, it would end horribly.

Anxiety became his shield. It didn't matter that his anxiety caused him to drop out of school, or that his anxiety led him to being referred to a flower shop for work. He liked the flower shop, he liked his creations in his book, and that was all he needed.

There was a surge of pain in his back, and with a horrible groan, he got up and bashed himself against the punching bag in his apartment. It wavered and threw itself back, and he threw himself at it again. And again. And again.

Finally, the stress became too much. He was fuming, and he knew very well why. With a wild growl and a curled lip he threw his window open and jumped out.

No normal person would have been able to make the landing safely, but Darren was hardy and strong. He was just too strong to feel it. How did people think he got so muscular? He didn't want to know. He just wanted to get away from the bubbling volcano in his chest.

He grappled his way up a roof and began running. He didn't really care who saw him; it would just be a guy, running on a roof, after all. Not until it got worse.

His back throbbed painfully, and he hissed, putting a bit more jump into his step. He was leaping now, like a muscular, gauche deer that was just trying to get away. With a twinge of effort, he pushed himself off one roof and onto another.

Then it happened. There was the brief slowdown as his mind found a new calm, then snapped back to reality as he was violently pulled apart like fate's plate of shrimp at a diner, and his secret burst from his back with incredible power. They were rigid, held straight, and the wind helped lift him until finally his feet stopped hitting the ground, and he was up and away, into the night.

His wings let go of the tense feeling with a flap or two that shed the blackness it cased itself in. He wistfully remembered a time when flying wasn't necessary before he flipped around and decided to take a short trip over the houses south of his home.

He flapped his way over his small town for at least an hour before he took a break in his usual rest stop; the small alleyway was cut off from building projects of the past, so he had taken to it, considering the only way to get there was by flight or by climbing onto the rooftops of the buildings it surrrounded.

He dropped down and took a deep breath. He would need to fly again soon, stretch his wings, because that is what his body demanded, but he could quickly check himself over and cover some parts of his face. His eyes would have to remain, but considering they were grey in his transformation, people would have a hard time finding him, the real one, the brown-eyed fearful flower shop employee.

He gripped a mirror that lay on the ground in his hands, turning it over a bit before focusing on the reflection. It was obvious that the transformation changed his appearance; the first few times he had panicked so badly that he'd tried to fly high as possible to get away from it all.

His face was around the same shape, although his smile didn't have dimples any more. His skin was lighter in tone, even brighter than his base self, and with a single hand he lifted it and looked at both sides. Each looked to have longer fingers, although he knew it was the fingernails and not the fingers themselves. He sighed and put it down again. He didn't feel like masking himself tonight.

Taking wing again, he kicked off of the brick walls around him and soared up into the sky, a brief moment letting him embrace it without much movement at all, before he dipped down again and swooped down to fly through the streets at incredible speeds. All anyone saw was a blurry figure flash past and swing himself back up into the sky, like an airplane taking off at the speed of sound.

He slowed down as he ascended, and his eyes traced the alleyways of the city with curiosity. Maybe he should practice some swooping down in the unoccupied ones. He did a roll and stretched out his wings again, feeling the wind on the feathers.

He barely had time to flinch as a resounding bang went off and his sight was blinded by red, interrupting his thoughts painfully.

He flapped hard, rising higher, glancing down at the ground with fury in his eyes. He finally focused on a pair of men, probably the same age as him, standing in an alley, one of which held a gun up to the sky still, pointed at him.

Darren didn't dare get closer to the gun, or the pair of men, but took in what he could. Thin, blond, with a lanky build; that was the one that had the gun. The other was equally stereotypical, but his hair was dyed blue at the edges, and he was pointing up at Darren with wide eyes.

Wincing, he swooped away from them, circling a large building in hopes of a balcony or similar to land on. He needed to get rid of the pain in his wings, dislodge the bullet if it was still there, although the blood was already drying and had began to simply drip over his left wing instead of pouring out into the city.

He braced himself as he swooped down towards a balcony that still had the lights on inside. He wasn't quite thinking fully why; he merely wanted some light to see by, so he could find something to tie off his injury with. He let them go painfully stiff at the last moment, and after a brief moment of stinging in his left wing and a floatiness from flying for so long, he crashed, falling backwards onto the ground.

He was half-paralyzed from shock as he tried desperately to turn himself over, but every time he reached forth with his arms his wings screamed in pain. Finally, he gave in, merely staring at the stars had hoping he'd have some way out.

He tensed when he heard a swishing of a door opening, and his eyes travelled to a familiar figure before he closed them and resigned himself to fate.

His dread increased when he heard a quiet gasp, and he merely accepted the pain in his back as she lifted him up, grabbing his arm and swinging it over her shoulder, dragging him inside. He walked with her, allowed her to sit him down, and then he was left alone for a bit.

He thought briefly about what was happening. Daisy, it was Daisy of all girls, was in a room with him. All secrets exposed. It was horrible. He knew his premonition about her had been right; he'd never get to know a nice girl like her. She'd probably send him away to the police the moment he was able to move, if she bothered to do anything at all about the winged beast in her apartment.

He took a moment to appreciate the adorable nature of the decoration. A bit surprisingly, he found that the main colours used were purples and blues, a few whites here and there as well, the wood on the floor being tiled and the walls being plain purple with sets of blue flowers having been painted on. He felt slightly guilty at having expected pink. He glanced at the sets of magazines on the floor, briefly recognizing some of the names and girls on the cover.

His body went stiff as something cold touched his back. He didn't dare move, but apparently his stiffness was noticed.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I.. don't know what happened to you but... I want to help."

He nodded slowly, allowing the process to continue. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought, not really. The pain was still there, and it was strong, but there was a lithe hand on his back holding him still. He figured he was squirming uncontrollably, and tried to calm himself down a little, gripping the sofa's material roughly.

It took a while, but the gun wound was cleaned, and the bullet pulled out. His wing was wrapped in white cloth that he felt like snuggling with, and his breathing became regular again. That disaster, at least, was over. He was ready as he could ever be, so there was no point in stressing over it.

"Who are you?" she asked, sitting down to dab some bandages with cleaning alcohols.

He thought carefully for a long time about his answer. He couldn't be honest with her; but at the same time, he didn't feel like lying to her, not after she'd gone to the effort to patch him up. With a drawn-out sigh, he murmured, "I can't tell you."

She seemed a bit downcast, but recomposing herself she replied, "That's okay. I'll be here when you're ready to tell me."

He watched her carefully. There was nothing reserved about it; it was blatantly obvious that he was staring. But with his wings, he didn't care. He would watch her if he felt like watching her, this strange girl who took winged men into her apartment and cured bullet wounds.

She didn't squirm; Instead, she stared right back, eyes flitting from one detail to another. He supposed she was just as curious as he, if not more. Well, he supposed anyone would be - he was some sort of winged beast, after all. It would be about as interesting as a three-headed dog deciding to show up on your doorstep.

"Will you be back?" She asked. He sensed an odd hopefulness in her tone, like a puppy wagging its tail.

He sighed. If she wasn't going to report him... maybe this would be good. Having somewhere to go at night.

"Alright. I'll be back." And with that, he got up and flung the doors open, stretching his white feathers as far as they'd go, until he could feel the wind touching even the tiniest thread of white on each. A deep breath, and he jumped, sailing down into a dive to gain speed, then tilting upwards in a graceful swoop that brought him into the sky once more.

He hoped that this would happen again.

* * *

A/N: This story will become its own story! It will be called Wings, like the chapter. Look forward to it!


	2. Chapter 2

Darren looked up briefly from his station at the cashier when he heard the tinkling of the bell, automatically murmuring a 'hello' to the customer, and it took him a few moments to stop and look back.

 _Daisy!_

His heart leaped a little, and instead of wondering why, he smiled and waved nervously. He didn't even know why he did it. He just _had_ to.

She smiled, she waved back. His heart turned into little butterflies that flew around his chest as she walked over. Was this a success? Was this a friend?

She put her elbows gently on the wood of the desk and grinned. "Have any flowers that would be good as an apology?"

"We have some blue hyacinths in," he offered, "and there're some nice white orchids too. Would you like a bouquet, or just one?"

"Hm, tough choice," she considered. "Four hyacinths and one orchid, please." Darren nodded and tried not to let his heart soar as he placed the hyacinths in a nice white bouquet and carefully slipped the orchid in the very center. Taking it over cautiously, he handed it to her, feeling a little electrical thrill as her hand pressed against his to take it from him.

His mind blurred, and in what seemed like a mere second she was walking out the door, and he was waving at her, and she was gone.

A small girl named Thila tilted her head, then chuckled. "Earth to lovelorn fool," she said, poking him. "It's earth, they want to know if you want your sense back."

"What?" Darren turned. "I'm perfectly sensible."

"For a lovelorn fool," she added cheekily. "She looks nice, I approve."

"Say what?" He blinked. "Approve of what?"

"Look, silly," she grinned, gripping his cheek and shaking it. "You're in love. Knew you had it in you. The girls keep saying you don't fall in love with anyone - well, I sure proved them wrong."

"They're right, I'm not," he said, blinking innocently. For a few moments Thila stared at him, but then she shook her head.

Throwing her hands to the sky, she cried, "You're hopeless! I give up!" And she walked away.

"I wonder what's getting on her nerves," he murmured, before shaking it off and getting back to work.

* * *

He was back in the park, sitting down casually and peering over his notebook. His latest activity had been, again, fashion. He had drawn Daisy in a dress, a dress based on flowers. He wanted it to look incredible for some reason, and so he wove into the page something that made his heart stir.

The top part was a bright sunshine yellow, and for a brief moment he considered sequins over it in a sparkling pattern, before shaking it off and instead considering frills, little waves in the illusion of many little seeds. It would be far more comfortable. Then the lower part, white and pure, would fold down to just past her knees, and spread in many petals...

He felt very suddenly in danger and closed his book.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to see a very menacing image. Standing there was a well-dressed blond who smirked at him.

"Design student, are you? Fancy Daisy?" He laughed. "Too bad, she's mine, orc." Darren twitched irritably. He already knew that he didn't fancy her _that_ way. He would never do such a thing to a friend.

Also, being called an orc got on his nerves. He wasn't an orc.

He shook his head slowly and got up. He didn't want to be here anymore. Looking down at the guy, he paused, then left. He tried to ignore the coward statements the guy was making.

* * *

It was with a grace that few possessed that he landed gently upon her balcony, touching down with his toes and daintily walking over. He knocked upon the window and waited patiently for her.

A few moments later, he resisted the urge to smile as she opened the door.

"You came back," she murmured breathlessly.

"I did," he agreed, finally giving in and smiling at her gently. She seemed a bit paralyzed for a moment, but moved to one side and allowed him to enter the small room.

He looked around carefully. The room was a bit more haphazard than last time, a few drawers pulled out, and in one corner was a half-made dress.

Of course, she made her own clothes. A truly dedicated design student.

"I'm sorry, I was working on my project for class," she said quickly. "It isn't done yet."

He nodded. "Please do continue. I will watch." He sat down on the couch and refused to move.

She seemed a bit stunned for a moment, but after a few seconds she got her sense back and began to work. He watched the weaving carefully, the way her hands moved through the stitches as she worked the material together, the way she made the different materials blend and flow. He liked it; it seemed so soothing to him, just moving back and forth to bring the materials into one creation. She was obviously very skilled, and had likely practiced long and hard to achieve the level of mastery she was displaying.

At least an hour later, it was done. The weaving was finished, the dress sewn, and it was stunning. It was nothing like his mediocre designs; this dress had all the perfection one could expect from a top designer. He knew she would go places, and he wanted very badly to help.

The dress itself was a vivid dark purple, and it flowed with the grace and power of the rain, each crease merely adding to the overall effect of the evening gown. Daisy plucked it off of the dummy she'd used to sew it together and showed it to him, a bright smile on her face.

"What do you think?" She asked. "I hope my professors will like it... I need to wear it to the grad party, you see. Leo invited me."

There was a sinking in his heart, and he realized very suddenly that there was no point in trying to deny it anymore. He cared very deeply for Daisy. He considered carefully what to say next.

"It is beautiful," he commented. "Like a midnight sky made of a great flowing blanket. I believe, however, that it could use a bit more detail."

She looked back at it herself, tilting her head. There was a light gasp that escaped her lips, and then she thrust it back on the mannequin with gusto.

"I knew it was missing something!" She cried, pulling out drawers right and left. He found it rather preposterous that she could lose her cool like this. "What did you say it looked like again?"

"Like a midnight sky, made of a great flowing blanket?" He offered. She grinned almost inhumanely as she grabbed a pair of scissors and some bright white lace, and flew past him to sit on her chair and get to work.

He smiled at her gently. "Please do not tire yourself out," he requested. "I would hate it if you hurt yourself. However, for tonight, I must go." He bowed deeply and treaded carefully to the doors leading out to the balcony. With one final glance at the girl who smiled at him, he threw the doors open and spread his wings, before leaping off and swooping up into the night.

He hoped that his suggestions were worth it.

* * *

As he stood at the cashier, a man wearing a fancy suit strutted in, glanced about, and moved to him, banging an elbow down onto the table.

"Get me a bouquet to show love. I've got a grad party in a few hours and I can't miss my chance." He grumbled and stared out the window as Darren pulled a stock Bouquet for the rude man.

"I can make some additions for her, if she likes anything in particular," he commented, showing it to the man. "Perhaps some flowers that reflect who she is?"

"Daisy would like that," he murmured. Darren snapped to attention immediately.

"The design student?"

"Yes?" he replied, an eyebrow raised. "What about it? Know her? I'm surprised." Darren ignored the comment and came back with a stunning bouquet.

"Carnations, red roses, White diffany around the sides and the small flowers are Daisies." He smiled. "She'll adore it, I'm sure."

"Good," he replied, snatching it. He paid and dashed off, and Darren sighed in exasperation.

"Crushed so soon, eh, lover-boy?" Thila teased. Darren groaned incomprehensibly and got up.

He peered into Hannah's room, a small office in the back, and she nodded him in.

"What is it, Darren?" She asked simply, closing her computer and giving him her full attention.

"May I... go home early today?" He asked hopefully. She blinked in surprise.

"Of course! You never take a break, so take all the vacation you need, Darren. Just remember we're here for you when the going gets tough." She smiled amicably, and something shot into his mind.

"Where's the nearest place I can buy a suit?" he asked curiously.

She seemed a little shocked, but replied, "Oh, just down the street. You'll know it when you see it, they have these lovely gowns in the display windows."

"Thank you," he said gratefully, dashing off.

She opened her computer, but she wasn't really focusing. In her mind, she was thinking, _what has gotten into that boy?_

* * *

It was perfect. He knew, just knew, that it would be worth it. He'd already paid, was already out the door with the handsome suit in his arms. It would be tonight. It would definitely be tonight.

He was ready.

* * *

Daisy hated this.

Probably the only good thing about Leo was that he gave a damn what she thought, which is probably why he'd given her that beautiful bouquet and had worn something better than thug fashion. Fashion, however, no matter how much she knew it could transform some people, did nothing for him; and white? He wore a _white_ suit? Sure, it was a nice suit, but it clashed horribly with her dress. It was so... _plain._

Just as plain and boring and completely stupid the boy underneath was.

She hated hating people, but she felt justified with Leo. He just _didn't_ get it. He wasn't like the Angel, oh no; there were no little bows, no polite conversation, nothing. Just copious amounts of egotistical pride and an incredible need to have anything and everything he asked for.

 _Why on earth did I accept him again?_ She wondered. Oh, right. Because every boy and girl for miles was going to avoid her otherwise, because they didn't want to get on his nerves. No-one in the school with half a brain would get on his bad side, and if he didn't get her, then people wouldn't get near her or her date - it was stupid to walk into trouble like that.

She couldn't wait to try and escape from him. He was _not_ going to win her today, that's for sure - she was going to dance with a nice, handsome boy, like her Angel.

It was at that moment that a boy - or more specifically, a man who appeared very young - took a seat at an empty table and propped his chin ever so gently on the back of one hand. His eyes had a steady, powerful gaze that hid nothing; and she simply _knew_ she had to dance with him. Something in her brain clicked, like the safety holster on a gun being flicked, and her heart began to pump with the butterflies of excitement.

This was her Angel.

He _had_ to be. There was no denying that familiar gaze, the lazy grey eyes which travelled across the room with a calm firmness; no ignoring the powerful build, the dainty fingers. He was her Angel, and she was going to dance with him if it was the last thing she did.

"Ugh, not him _again,"_ Leo complained.

"I think he seems very nice," Daisy retorted. "What's all this about again?"

"He's a thug," Leo replied. "Unsightly in this sort of event. Anyone who's been in the city at night knows not to even say his name."

She looked back, tilting her head and watching carefully. He didn't _seem_ like the violent type - and yet, what caused him to have that incredible build? How had he been shot? It all seemed to fit, and she didn't really feel comfortable with that.

She found her escape when Leo started talking up some other girls - _the nerve!_ \- and watched her Angel from the dessert table.

One way or another, she would figure him out.

* * *

Darren was infuriated.

His eyes probably didn't show it, but it was horrifying how- well, how incredibly crude this date of hers was. He had handed her the bouquet, yes, but he hadn't made a single comment on her dress, and he was- he was _flirting!_ With other girls, right in front of his own date! No wonder she wanted to get away.

Even more so, he'd heard the simpleton call him a 'thug'. Yes, it made sense; he was strong from long runs and long flights and frustrated punching sessions, he had been shot before, but he wasn't a _thug._ He'd never lay a finger on anyone, save for maybe this 'Leo' character. He could go for a new punching bag right about now.

His eyes travelled over to Daisy, who was idly twirling an empty drink glass in one hand. She seemed bored out of her wits, and for a few moments he played with an idea in his head.

 _Sure, why not,_ said his head, and he was up and walking over to her. Her eyes darted up to him, and for a moment he considered hunching over to try and be less intimidating, but it occurred to him that it would probably make him look like an alley cat. He had to act as far from 'thug' as possible.

"Hello," he greeted, his mind whirring. "I'm afraid I caught sight of your date. It is unfortunate that he disrespected you as such."

Her lip quivered ever so slightly, and he was tempted to up and kiss her right there, but he resisted the urge as best he could. He had to be a gentleman.

She began, "Oh, don't mind him. Leo is just... not very considerate of others."

"'Just'?" Darren inquired, placing one hand gently on the table to be standing next to her.

"Be hush about this, but I didn't really have a choice," She admitted. "he carries a lot of power around. He's not exactly my first choice."

"I see." he smiled at her. "And who might be your first?" _Wait, no, don't ask- dammit, I just did that, didn't I?_

She paused, seemingly almost paralyzed, then replied, "That's a secret!"

 _Damn, she is adorable._

"What about you?" She inquired playfully. "Who brought you here?"

"If I may," he smiled, though internally he was panicking, "I believe I will also keep that secret."

She seemed a bit miffed, but soon recovered as a new song started playing. "I'd better go," she said sadly. "Leo will-"

Just then, there was a set of lights turned off, and a new set turned on. Perfect for dancing. And, as Darren's eyes travelled around the dance floor, he caught sight of a pair twirling around madly. His face twitched irritably at the sight of the white suit, and even more so when the pair moved in for a very deliberate kiss.

"Why, the nerve!" She growled, and his stomach churned oddly. "I know that I am rather glad of it, but that's... so rude!"

"I agree," he said amicably, and very suddenly his instincts took over. "Denying a lovely lady like yourself." _Oh god, what am I saying?!_

But for once, he decided to roll with it.

She seemed a little stunned as he took her hand gently, and inquired, "Daisy, may I have this dance?"

* * *

She was _definitely_ dreaming.

The Angel - _the Angel -_ was asking her for a dance. If she didn't have any willpower she would have gone down on one knee right then and there. She didn't even care that she didn't know a scrap about who he was - anyone this nice, this sincere, _had_ to be a good person. She took his hand without even thinking, and silently he led her under the light of the dance floor.

She had taken some quick online classes on this sort of thing, but he was an expert. Every time she was about to trip up, he pulled her back into the dance. It was amazing, and she had to think desperately of something other than the stunning man before her.

This was it. This was what her classmates meant when they sighed hopelessly over someone.

She felt her heart pounding as he pulled her in close, and the sheer surreal feel of it kept her heart pounding through twirls and steps and spins. There was almost a silence in her brain as everything slowed down and their movements became even more graceful and dainty.

She knew what was happening, but she was too busy having her breath taken away to fix it.

She would later say that she danced into love.

* * *

The music stopped, and for a brief moment Darren asked himself if this was even happening.

Not only had he just crashed the graduation party, taken Daisy from Leo, or asked her for a dance. He had danced with her, and it was awesome.

Now he was hoping to the lord that she couldn't feel his heartbeat through his suit, because he was right up against her. He slowly let her go, hoping he hadn't gripped her too hard, and her heels touched the floor as a silence rose. Letting go of her hands, he took a step back, and he gave her a short bow before turning to leave for the table again.

He was met by a series of cheers that deafened him.

"He's incredible!"

"That lucky girl!"

And then a sudden dreading voice cried out, "Isn't that Leo's date?"

The cheers turned to dreading whispers, but he could hear the comments just as loud.

"He's made an enemy, definitely."

"I hope he'll be okay..."

"He'll probably be expelled."

Darren, inside, was screaming, but the lingering warmth from Daisy's hand kept him sensible as Leo stalked over.

"You danced with my date." He hissed.

"You left her alone while you went off to woo another woman," He replied. "I suppose you wanted her to sit quietly at the dessert table, alone, while she watched her date kiss another girl?"

"You shouldn't have danced with her," He cried. "She's mine! You'll be expelled!"

Darren decided it was time he stopped sugar-coating his words. "From where, exactly, will I be expelled?" He hated this voice he used, the deep, dangerous one that rang ominously through the room and back, but it did the trick. It got the message across.

 _Nobody messes with me._

Leo actually cowered. "You'll never get anywhere," he threatened. "you'll never be able to return to this school. You'll be thrown out and stuck working in- in- in a flower shop!"

"Oh really," Darren replied, an amused expression on his face. "I quite like flowers. Like Daisy." He smiled in a sickeningly sweet manner. "I'm afraid I must go... I don't have all the time in the world." Turning to Daisy, he continued, "Thank you for dancing with me. It was a pleasure to have your company." And with that, he left, hoping no-one noticed the speed in his step.

* * *

There was something incredibly deliberate about the way Leo approached her. She tried not to notice, but his hand hit her shoulder roughly.

"Who was he?"

"I don't know. I... only met him less than an hour ago." she continued wistfully, "I didn't even ask his name."

He scowled and turned to everyone in the room. "Who was he?!" He bellowed, making a good number of the students quiver in fear.

There was no answer.

"NOBODY KNOWS HIM?!"

* * *

That night, Daisy could barely think straight. Her head was filled with thoughts of the Angel. Her Angel. The man she had discovered a few nights ago, that her heart now raced to be beside. She desperately wanted to throw herself at him, and yet there was a twinge of fear.

 _Who was he?_

Those words rang through her head back and forth like an untamed tornado, working its way through her mind until it was completely mixed up into an endless stream of potentials.

She needed to know. Not a faux name, not a nickname, she needed solid numbers and letters that were written down upon his birth. She wanted desperately to know his name, and she wouldn't be satisfied until she knew just who the Angel was.

Her heart soared when she heard a whooshing of wind near her balcony, and her feet and hands did the work for her. Flinging the door open, she welcomed him inside as calmly as she could, and he nodded to her, stepping inside himself.

"Miss Daisy," He said seriously, "I wish to apologize. I acted ever so rudely at your graduation party."

"Don't even sweat it! I'm not even graduating yet!" She replied, pushing him to a seat on the couch and sitting next to him. "That was Leo's brother's grad party, thank goodness. We were the youngest there." She smiled and explained further. "I'm a first year, you see - only just started."

"I see," her Angel replied, nodding sagely. "I'm sure you'll do well."

"Say," she inquired hopefully, "What year are you in? What are you taking?"

He shook his head. "I am not in university."

"Oh, you've graduated, then," she inferred.

He turned away. "I dropped out of high school two years ago," he explained, barely above a whisper. It was almost puppy-like, the way he whimpered at the statement. "I wanted very much to graduate, but my anxiety prevented me from even eating. It was... unfortunate, but my teachers decided to have me leave. I simply couldn't cope with the stress."

There was a lie in there somewhere. She knew the dropout part was true, he said it with such sadness... but he couldn't cope? When he'd shot down Leo like he was target practice?

"Please be honest with me," she asked, fearing his answer a bit. "You really couldn't cope?"

He turned to her with wide eyes and stared deep into her, almost past her entirely. The intensity was will-breaking, and it took all her strength not to break.

"How many people do you think would kill if a winged beast flew into their bedroom?" he shot back, though his words were slow, dreadfully slow.

And then she saw it. Those wings were his biggest secret. If anyone found them -

It would ruin him. He'd forever be lost in a world of friend-and-foe. People would know his face, and at one point or another someone would try to kill him. It was so clear now - he'd spent his life trying to protect himself, put up a shield, the last thing on his mind was whether or not he got to go to university or work somewhere he liked. He was probably happy to have any work at all.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, not really sure what else to say. "I can't believe I didn't think of this..."

"It's not your fault," he soothed, a large, gentle hand stroking her back gently. "I was born this way. There's nothing I can do but enjoy what I already have."

"I... wanted to know you better," She admitted. "But I won't ask... anything." The words ground out harshly, but she felt they were needed.

"Thank you," he replied sincerely, his eyes seeming a bit glossy to her until she realized he was holding back tears. She was gripped in a sudden hug that she returned, feeling a little guilty about how much she was enjoying it.

"Thank you."


End file.
